


you can only eat so many cheeseburgers: a romance in eight restaurants

by SecretFandomStories



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pansexual Tony Stark, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Pre-Iron Man 3, Restaurants, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretFandomStories/pseuds/SecretFandomStories
Summary: "The food’s a lot better: we used to boil everything."After the Battle of New York, Tony takes it upon himself to provide Steve with an education in the fine foodways of the future.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 44





	you can only eat so many cheeseburgers: a romance in eight restaurants

**Author's Note:**

> World Central Kitchen has created #ChefsForAmerica, where funds help both restaurants and people in need. WCK uses donations to inject cash into restaurants struggling with Covid-19 shutdowns by contracting them to make meals for people in their community. If you are able to, please consider donating at wck.org

It starts with a text a month after the battle of New York. Steve thinks he’s just about gotten the hang of texting. It’s kind of like sending a telegram, he reasons: good for urgent, time sensitive communication, less good for nuances of detail and emotion. He’s stopped adding salutations and signing his name to them. The text is from Tony, whose number was already in the phone when he gave it to Steve after taking personal offense to his flip phone. It says, confusingly: _have you eaten at Prune yet?_

Because he’s a smartass and to buy himself time to google, Steve texts back: _I’ve eaten prunes before_. [Prune](https://prunerestaurant.com/), Google tells him, is a restaurant in the Bowery. The chef’s name is Gabrielle Hamilton. He pulls up the website, which has menus posted. He’s not too sure about _Deviled Rabbit Kidneys with Toast and Jelly_ , but _Breton Fish Soup_ and _Grilled Pigeon_ sound a hell of a lot better. The dessert menu is filled with things like his Ma used to make before sugar rationing. His mouth waters. He texts Tony: _Want to go?_

Tony’s reply is almost instantaneous: _too slow. thursday, 1900 hrs._ Steve stares at the text for a long moment. Somehow he has a dinner date with Tony Stark on Thursday. He hasn’t seen the man in person since they saw Thor and Loki off with the Tesseract, but he’s been on the news plenty. Steve has limited himself to three hours of news a day, down from eighteen. The Stark Foundation has donated generously to the restoration and rebuilding effort in Midtown. Steve himself has contributed to a number of fundraisers, but it doesn’t feel like enough, not next to the amount of money and resources Tony has poured into the cause. 

Steve’s respect for the man has grown since their first prickly encounter, but he doesn’t know if they’re friends. He remembers Tony’s hand, warm and strong shaking his own, but they hadn’t spoken. They haven’t spoken since. He considers whether he wants to be Tony’s friend. He’s leaning towards yes, though some of their exchanges on the Helicarrier still ring raw in his ears. Steve knows that he was more than a little wrong in his initial assessment, and that he’d shot his mouth off when Tony goaded him. Maybe Tony has realized the same. 

On Thursday morning, Steve goes for a haircut and a hot towel shave at [Mat Blak](https://www.matblak.com/), where the staff are willing to pretend that he’s just another customer. He looks at their flower arrangements for a long time after his grooming is done, but in the end he decides that this is probably not that kind of date. If it turns out to be, he can always send Tony flowers later, but his face burns imagining the torrent of sarcasm that turning up with flowers for a business dinner might earn him. They’re nice, though. Balanced, masculine. He buys a vase for his kitchen table and walks home whistling.

Steve realizes after lunch that he might not own anything appropriate to wear. He stares at his closet for a while before he goes to google “Prune dress code”. Then he stares at his closet some more, wondering what casual even means these days. In the end, he irons crisp creases into a shirt the color of sun on snow and a pair of charcoal slacks. As he shines his shoes, he tells himself that going out to dinner with Tony Stark means that no one will be looking at him. 

Just as he’s trying to figure out how long it will take him to get from Red Hook to the Bowery on his motorcycle, factoring in evening traffic, his phone pings with a text: _meet me outside in ten_. Feeling equal parts annoyed and relieved, Steve goes to put himself together double time. 

Nine minutes and fifty seconds after the text, there’s a candy blue [911 Speedster](https://o.aolcdn.com/images/dims3/GLOB/legacy_thumbnail/800x450/format/jpg/quality/85/http://www.blogcdn.com/www.autoblog.com/media/2010/12/lead1-2011-porsche-speedster-fd.jpg) idling in front of Steve’s building with the top down. He stares at it for a minute with unabashed lust before he realizes that yes, that’s Tony behind the wheel. Bracing himself for some inventively mocking jab at his hesitation, Steve reaches for the handle of the passenger door, but Tony’s already getting out and coming around to the other side. “You can probably get us there, right?” he asks off-hand, like he doesn’t know that Steve has most of a stiffy for his car. Steve vaults into the driver’s seat. Nobody’s going to ask him twice. It takes him a minute to figure out how the dual-clutch PDK shift lever works, unhelped by Tony’s explanation, but by the time he’s decided to take the bridge and not the tunnel for the sheer pleasure of the drive he thinks he’s got the hang of it. They’re over the East River when he realizes that he’s grinning like an idiot and that Tony is watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. Steve braces himself for whatever’s about to come out, but Tony just raises an eyebrow, as if to say “I’m not looking at you, you’re looking at me.” Steve turns back to the road.

He’s uncertain about leaving the car with the valet in front of the little red awning, but Tony doesn’t say anything, so Steve just folds a fifty around the keys and tells the kid to take care of it. Inside, the restaurant is tiny and unassuming, nothing like he might have expected Tony to choose. There’s an open kitchen full of bustling women and no tablecloths. The staff are also very good at pretending not to recognize them. Steve starts to relax as Tony orders cocktails.

The pink-covered menu is brief and looks handwritten. Steve is trying to decide between _Chicken in a Pot_ , which seems safe, and _Sauteed Head On Shrimp with Anchovy and Nutmeg on Brown Bread_ , which seems dangerous but interesting, when Tony closes his menu with a snap and looks up at the hovering waiter. “How’s one of everything sound?” 

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it again. Tony invited him and Tony’s paying. Besides, it’s not like he can’t afford it. After the waiter scurries off, he decides that “You skip breakfast?” is a safely nonchalant overture. 

Tony sighs dramatically. “I think I just skipped yesterday. Maybe Wednesday too. Man shall not live on black coffee alone. Besides, that metabolism probably needs a lot of calories, doesn’t it?” Steve can’t exactly argue with that. Tony did watch him put away about six plates of shawarma. He could’ve eaten more if he hadn’t been so tired. Saving the world, it turns out, is hungry work.

When the plates start to arrive at the table, Steve understands Tony’s optimism. They’re not exactly small, but a regular person would probably need two or three to make a meal. Not only is everything more or less recognizable, it also smells delicious. Tony orders more cocktails while Steve tries to figure out how they’re going to share the food. 

Tony solves the problem by reaching over and scooping up a spoonful of the fried potatoes sitting closest to Steve. Steve retaliates by sticking his fork in the salad in front of Tony. It’s bitter and crunchy and sweet, laced with [little green things](https://www.eatthis.com/what-are-capers/) that burst in a bright explosion of vinegar when he bites into them. He moves the dish closer to him. Tony steals the potatoes. 

They clear out the first round of food in a series of skirmishes that culminates in a battle over the last buttered turnip. An hour ago, Steve would have said he hated turnips. The staff descend on them to clear the table and bring out half a dozen more plates. They’ve forgotten how to pretend that they don’t know who Steve and Tony are, but Steve can’t bring himself to care very much. He’s too busy trying to secure the grilled pigeon for himself while Tony sucks the juice from one shrimp head after another with unconcealed relish. 

As Steve sits back in his chair and surveys the carnage of their dinner, he tries not to think about the three or four bologna sandwiches he would have been having at home that night, leaning against his kitchen sink and looking out the window. They’re a distant memory, though. Now Steve knows what skate tastes like. He’s eaten pork cheeks that made his eyes roll back in his head. Even the deviled rabbit kidneys weren’t that bad.

Tony’s watching him from across the table while pretending to look at the dessert menu. Steve’s watching Tony while pretending to google "rouille" on his phone. They catch each other at the same time. Steve looks chagrined. “This was all really great, Tony,” he says. “Really great, thank you.”

Tony manages to convey a shrug without moving his body. He orders the entirety of the dessert menu to go. Steve protests weakly. “Gotta have you home before curfew, or people will think you’re not a nice girl,” Tony says, but he’s teasing, not sneering. When Steve insists on leaving the tip, he allows it.

A couple people at the other tables stare after them as they leave, but Steve can’t tell whether it’s because of the amount of food they’ve consumed or because they’ve been recognized. He can’t bring himself to care all that much. When the valet brings the car around, Tony snatches the keys with a triumphant “I’m driving,” like it isn’t his car. Steve puts the to go bags in the back seat and gets in without complaining. 

He’s just trying to figure out how to loosen his belt a notch without Tony noticing and cracking wise when he says, without looking away from the road, “You’re a great excuse to order the whole menu. I bet you’ll eat anything and lots of it.” 

Steve listens hard for the malice in his tone and can’t find any. He can’t really argue with Tony’s assessment, either. “I ate a lot of cabbage and potatoes growing up,” he admits. “A lot of sandwiches I made myself cause my mom worked the night shift.” He isn’t sure why he’s telling Tony this. Maybe it’s that somehow, Tony has earned this. 

“No wonder you were so skinny,” Tony says, and Steve has to laugh at that. It hurts a little, laughing, like working an unused muscle. Maybe it’s because he’s so full, Steve tells himself. Because he’d eaten in public the way he only used to let himself eat in private. Eating three times your share when food’s being rationed isn't just rude. It’s unpatriotic, too. 

Tony remembers which building is Steve’s, of course, and parallel parks expertly across the street from it. It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to thank him again when Tony says, “Same time next week?” It’s only sort of a question.

Steve doesn’t have to think about the answer for very long. “Only if it’s my treat,” he tells Tony firmly. 

Tony rolls his eyes and then assumes an expression of evil glee. “I’m going to make you regret that one, Rogers.”

“Counting on it,” Steve says, hopping out of the car. He’s halfway up the stairs to his apartment before he realizes that he let Tony drive off with all of the dessert.

**Author's Note:**

> If you leave me a comment, I'll love you forever!


End file.
